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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25298920">I've Been Counting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksnapdragon/pseuds/Ksnapdragon'>Ksnapdragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Very Slapdash Approach to Undead Medical Care, Canon Compliant, Death Knights - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Implied Smut, Implied/Referenced Sexism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mild Gore, Plenty of Sexual Tension Though, Poor Darion Just Wants to be Left Alone, Sylvanas Gets Promoted and Forgets About Koltira for a while, Timeline spans from Warcraft III to Legion, everyone else ships it, no actual smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:41:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25298920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksnapdragon/pseuds/Ksnapdragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Koltira has spent a very specific number of days caged up in the Undercity after the events at Andorhal, but time begins to slip past him as he recounts how he came to be here, as well as his one hope for escape. Hopefully some dashing human will ride in on his white horse to rescue him before Sylvanas' shrill whining grates his nerves to dust. The promise of what's waiting for him if he does manage to survive is surely worth whatever the Banshee Queen can throw at him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Koltira Deathweaver/Thassarian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I've Been Counting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  It had been three years, two hundred and eighty-six days.</p><p>  Three years, two hundred and eighty-six days in the depths of the Undercity, with no contact of any kind from the outside world. That was, save for the Forsaken guard that had unceremoniously deposited a bowl of water and half a loaf of bread on what Koltira Deathweaver assumed was Winter Veil each year. A fat lot of good that would do him. The bread was moldy and crumbling, and the water managed to taste somehow acidic, but they were small comforts, nonetheless. Even the sight of the guard was a welcome one, though her twisted visage might have been considered rather gruesome to someone a little less accustomed to death. As it was, Koltira wasn't exactly in a position to be throwing stones.</p><p>  Absently, he wondered when he would receive his next meal. There were no windows in his cell, located far below ground in one of Sylvanas’ many dungeons, so there was no sure way to keep track of the time. The Banshee Queen herself had seen that he was imprisoned here, caged, and then all but abandoned. So, even if his yearly bread was disgusting and unnecessary to one who required no sustenance, it was at least an unorthodox sort of calendar.</p><p>  It had been almost four years, at least to his best estimate, yet he still had not given up hope. Of course, Koltira reasoned bitterly, there were no conceivable means of escape in his future. Sylvanas undoubtedly had this place heavily guarded, and the elven Death Knight had found himself unable to escape his imprisonment, even at the height of his strength at the time of his capture. His stiff, aching muscles screamed in protest as he shifted uncomfortably, seeking relief from the cold iron bars.</p><p>  <em>Almost four years…</em></p><p>  How much longer could he do this? When Sylvanas had taken him in, he had envisioned a few weeks of torture, maybe some half-hearted attempts at brainwashing thrown in. It hadn’t been terribly worrisome; he had endured much worse. But she must have suddenly become terribly busy with affairs on the surface, because he hadn't so much as seen her once since being captured. And now, this? Being locked away for years without even the slightest opportunity to sate his bloodlust… it was worse than any kind of torture the Forsaken leader could have devised. It was genuinely a wonder he hadn’t completely lost his mind, but perhaps being able to slaughter the occasional rat, maggot, or sewer sludge that managed to find its way down here was enough to fight off the edge.</p><p>  There was still a chance, he knew… a chance so faint and distant that he almost didn’t allow himself to dream it, but in the back of his mind somewhere, Koltira hoped that Thassarian would come. The human had saved his life three times now, once in life and twice more in his current state of undeath. As a former Quel’dorei, Koltira naturally rejected the idea of being indebted to anyone, let alone another of a different race. But as Death Knights, he and the human had come to accept one another as equals.</p><p>  Koltira let himself fall into a comfortable daze. In these quiet moments, alone, he found the dreams came easily. Sometimes they could be quite pleasant... others were dreadful. He had learned long ago not to fight them. They passed the hours.</p><p>  He could picture it now: his rescue would start with the sound of combat from the outer halls. He could almost hear the human's deep, gravelly voice shouting obscenities as he carved his way through the Forsaken forces to reach him. Then, he'd appear silhouetted in the doorway, a broad-shouldered vision of power and pure muscle. He'd stride over to Koltira's cage, grab him roughly through the iron bars and pull him closer...</p><p>  “No one is coming for you.”</p><p>  The voice, smooth as silk, startled Koltira, and he jerked his head up. Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, leader of the Forsaken, leaned casually against the wall across from his cage. How long had she been there? He certainly hadn’t heard her enter, but the fact didn’t entirely surprise him. She, too, had been a Quel’dorei in life, and therefore would have mastered moving with the silent grace that all elves exhibited. Despite being so light on her feet, there was a heavy, almost suffocating presence about her that Koltira could not place.</p><p>  The Death Knight waited for her to continue, but she did not. She was seemingly busy, calmly studying her nails in an eerily cheerful manner. Of course, he knew better than that. The Banshee Queen may have appeared nonchalant, but the wheels in her head never stopped turning.</p><p>  “Of course no one is coming for me,” Koltira replied, finally breaking the silence. “If you think I’m hoping for some kind of rescue, you’re more daft than even I believed you to be.” He tilted his head condescendingly in an attempt at mild provocation.</p><p>  Anyone else who had spoken to Sylvanas like that would have faced her ire, but to Koltira’s surprise, she laughed mirthfully. “No one,” she continued. “It’s been six years, and there have been no sightings of any scouting parties. No messengers from the Ebon Hold. No one is even looking for you, Deathweaver. Not even your precious little human friend… Thassarian, is it?”</p><p>  Koltira did his best not to show any emotion on his face. It wasn’t truly difficult; “feelings” weren’t exactly what Death Knights such as himself were renowned for. Instead, he tried to focus on Sylvanas’ words. Had it truly been six years? It couldn't be. She must be playing mind games with him, trying to make him doubt himself. Begrudgingly, he had to give her some credit. It had worked… a little. He blinked slowly, but otherwise remained still, his countenance unchanged.</p><p>  “Well now,” Sylvanas purred, smirking slightly. “All this time in isolation and you’ve still nothing to say for yourself? Very well, you don’t need to speak... I’ll do the talking.” She stalked gracefully towards his cell, grasping an iron bar in each of her slender hands. “Don't you think if anyone cared about you, they would have at least tried to help you by now?”</p><p>  Koltira didn’t answer. He didn't have to. The Ranger General continued without even giving him a chance to respond. “In fact, from what I hear, that Alliance commander of yours cleaned up your mess in Andorhal and hasn't returned since… I don’t think he’s even noticed you’re gone.”</p><p>  He could feel the frustration beginning to boil deep within him, but the Death Knight gritted his teeth and said nothing. She was so close… in one quick motion he could have her by the throat and begging for her… well, unlife. He felt his muscles tense instinctively. They ached to bring her pain. Innocuously, he began sending pulses of energy down his arm in the once-familiar conjuration of his Death Grip. Tendrils of electric purple crackled at his fingertips. Releasing them at his captor would send her flying into the cage’s iron bars with a satisfying thud, and from there… well, Byfrost would certainly make hacking her to bits easier, but without his greatsword he would simply have to get creative. He raised his hand towards her throat, sending forth his magic-</p><p>  But it never came. A cloud of overwhelming calm engulfed him, settling over him like a thick blanket, and Koltira felt his rage instantly dissipate. His hand shook slightly and he lowered it, confused. The urge to kill had utterly melted away, leaving him soothed and slightly dizzy. He frowned. <em>What just happened</em>?</p><p>  Sylvanas seemed to notice his discomfort. A soft chuckle escaped her throat, and Koltira silently cursed the Ranger General. It would seem that it was not just some superior willpower that had kept him from becoming a feral monstrosity without a proper outlet for his bloodlust, after all. She had been taming it, somehow.</p><p>  If Sylvanas had any inkling of what had nearly transpired just a few moments earlier, she chose not to otherwise acknowledge it, and continued on with her tiresome monologue. “There must be a strong camaraderie between the two of you if working with him is worth all of this.” She gestured first to the room around them, then to his cage. “I wonder, then, why he doesn’t come for you now. I wonder if-” She gasped in surprise, as if the thought was just occuring to her, “-if he was just using you for the sake of the Alliance?” Her hands pressed against her heart, and she shot him a look dripping with mock sympathy. “Oh, you poor creature! You actually thought a human was capable of caring? For you, no less?” She leaned forward, continuing in a low hiss. “You mean <em>nothing</em> to him.”</p><p>  “Nothing.” Koltira repeated dully, hoping that playing along would get her out of his hair faster. Being completely silent clearly wasn’t speeding up the process. For so long now, he would have given anything for a simple conversation with someone, anyone, really, to distract him from the relentless thoughts that never seemed to end. But now he found himself wishing Sylvanas would hurry up and get to whatever point she was trying to make, so that he could get back to his daydreams. Her provocations were beginning to sting harder than even she knew.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>  …Nothing.</em>
</p><p>  The single word sent pinpricks of discomfort up Koltira's spine. He remembered the night many years ago, when he and Thassarian had met after hours for some routine training practice. Koltira, having been trained in the art of swordsmanship by Thassarian himself, had been steadily growing in skill and power since he had been turned. He commanded his greatsword, Byfrost, while Thassarian dual-wielded twin runeblades, and the two sparred with the precision and instinct that only two fighters who have trained together for years can accomplish. Each expertly-timed blow was parried and immediately countered by another, neither gaining any ground on the other. Finally, Koltira heaved Byfrost into the air with all of his might, only to have it come slicing down onto Thassarian’s crossed runeblades. Koltira tried to bring it down farther, but Thassarian would not budge. The two stood, frozen for a moment, staring one other down amiably.</p><p>  “You’re starting to fight like an old man,” Koltira taunted, hoping to move the human to action.</p><p>  “You still don’t fight like a man at all,” Thassarian retorted with a smile, wisely choosing not to rise to the bait. He gently lowered his weapons. “You've done well, brother.”</p><p>  Koltira smirked and relaxed his stance, but he had barely lowered Byfrost when Thassarian whirled on him, pinning the elf’s back against his body, with one of his runeblades pressed to Koltira’s throat.</p><p>  “Never let your guard down!” Thassarian grinned, leaning forward to whisper in his ear: “You’re mine now, Deathweaver.”</p><p>  Koltira said nothing. In fact, he found that he suddenly seemed completely unable to breathe. He was intimately aware of Thassarian’s hand around his waist, his heavy plate armor crushing into his back, silver hair gently brushing the sensitive tips of his long ears. Impulsively, he let Byfrost clatter to the ground and pressed his body back against Thassarian with a soft exhale. He could feel his ally stiffen hesitantly behind him, but Koltira continued, covering Thassarian’s hand with his own, firmly pinning it in place against his hip. He turned his head, meeting the human’s curious gaze. The two stared into one another’s eyes for what could have been an eternity, searching. Pleading.</p><p>  In reality, it lasted only a few moments before Thassarian started with a jolt, averting his gaze and clearing his throat. He hurriedly released Koltira and stepped back a pace. He seemed momentarily speechless. After a few beats of very uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke:</p><p>  “...Koltira?”</p><p>  Koltira turned his back to him once more, suddenly unable to look again into those icy blue eyes. “By the Light, Thass… I’m sorry.”</p><p>  Thassarian shifted awkwardly. “Uhm. I, uh… I should...” He gestured weakly towards the door. “You know, just, ah… don’t…”</p><p>  Koltira whirled on him suddenly, snatching his blade from where it had lain abandoned on the floor and letting it come to rest at Thassarian’s throat in one fluid motion. “<em>Nothing.</em>”</p><p>  “What?”</p><p>  The elf was seething, his blue eyes like ice. “It... meant... nothing.”</p><p>  “Nothing,” Thassarian agreed, hands up defensively. Silently, he backed away from Byfrost, eyes not daring to leave the tip of the glowing blade. When he reached the doorway he turned to say something, but then seemed to change his mind and looked away. Finally, he spoke.</p><p>  “Koltira?”</p><p>  “What?” He snapped, eyes still blazing.</p><p>  “I… we… we can't... I don’t... well, that is, I haven’t…”</p><p>  Silence.</p><p>  Thassarian sighed, and rested his forehead none too gently on the doorframe. “I’m… sorry, if I-”</p><p>  “Please,” Koltira interrupted, still unable to meet his eyes, “Just go.”</p><p>  Without another word, the human had disappeared, letting the door quietly fall shut behind him.</p><p> </p><p>  Sylvanas’ shrieking laughter shook Koltira out of his daydream, and he felt his ears burning from embarrassment at the memory.</p><p>  “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Deathweaver?” Sylvanas’ lips curled in a sneer. “You will never mean anything to him. He doesn’t care about you. His only love is the Alliance-”</p><p>  “Stop it.” The words came out more forcefully than Koltira intended, and he silently cursed himself. Even Sylvanas seemed taken aback at the sudden force of his words. For a moment, the chamber was completely silent except for the echo of his voice mocking him repeatedly:<em> Stop it... stop it... stop it...</em></p><p>  “Oh." The single, almost musical syllable hung in the air, and Koltira could practically hear her mind racing. He held his breath and prayed that she wouldn’t actually think-</p><p>  “Oh, my.”</p><p>  <em>Damn you, Koltira Deathweaver. </em></p><p>  He did his best to look disinterested. “I don’t-”</p><p>  “You <em>love</em> him.” Her laughter echoed throughout the stone chamber. “You’re in love with the Alliance commander! Well, this certainly explains plenty.”</p><p>  Koltira was fuming. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he growled, fingers twitching in an effort to keep them from balling into fists.</p><p>“He’s a charming man to be sure,” Sylvanas continued, her voice syrupy sweet. “Strong, and handsome, too. It’s a shame you’d sacrifice so much for him, only to be repaid with this.” She let her words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Surely if he felt the same way he’d be here by now.”</p><p> </p><p>  <em>He would, wouldn't he?</em></p><p> </p><p>  Koltira’s mind suddenly flashed back to a warm autumn evening years ago, after a particularly long and hard-won battle against the Scourge. Since the fall of Arthas, Thassarian had returned to his sister in the ranks of the Alliance. Koltira had no such family to return to, in either faction. He would have happily followed him, but Thassarian had made no such offer, and Koltira refused to impose himself. The human had made his choice, and priorities, dutifully clear.</p><p>  The Acherus was still the base of operations for the Ebon Blade, but most of its residents had made ties with either the Alliance or Horde, and checked in only occasionally unless their presence was specifically requested. Both Thassarian and Koltira, despite a lack of personal summons, continued to regularly run into each other back at base; whether by design or coincidence, they found themselves rarely in the field without one another.</p><p>  Despite Death Knights being soulless killing machines, something about frequently being within close quarters tended to make the Acherus a surprisingly heavy breeding ground for gossip. Thus, it was common knowledge among its residents that if one needed to find either Thassarian or Koltira, the first place to look was with the other. Most rumors about the two of them regarding their close proximity to one another quickly devolved into crude jokes and insinuations, but Koltira chose to ignore most of it. He couldn’t be entirely sure whether Thassarian was completely oblivious to what was being heavily implied in a conspiratorial tone by most of their colleagues, or whether he simply paid it no mind himself. Regardless, it hadn’t stopped the two of them from being no more than a stone's throw away from one another whenever they both happened to be on duty at the same time.</p><p>  Worn and exhausted from their most recent victory, the surviving members of the Ebon Blade desired nothing more than to conjure a handful of Death Gates and retire to the Acherus for some much needed rest; however, a moderately-sized unit had been requested to stay behind and secure the area. Koltira knew he had been among the most able-bodied of the survivors, and chose to stay. He and Thassarian naturally found each other, as always seemed to happen.</p><p>  The human heaved a weary sigh as Koltira approached, and sheathed his blades. “Patrol?”</p><p>  Koltira nodded curtly in agreement.</p><p>  The two of them fell into step side by side, both too exhausted to speak, but silently drawing comfort from each other’s familiar presence. Koltira glanced at his comrade as they walked. All of them were covered in dirt and grime, but somehow Thassarian managed to wear it like a badge of honor instead of a gory mess. The human caught his eye and managed a tired smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out by shouting from close behind them. Alarmed, Koltira tried to draw his sword, but before he could properly react, he felt an excruciating pain in his gut as something massive pierced his plate armor, and all went dark.</p><p>  For a short period he could remember nothing but vague images and sounds: Thassarian's face, furrowed with worry. Linen cloth being ripped. A steady dripping of some sort of liquid. The clash of metal on metal…</p><p>  When Koltira finally awoke, it was to a slightly clearer head, and a searing pain in his abdomen. He attempted to sit up, but felt a hand on his bare chest pinning him back down to the ground.</p><p>  “Thass?” Koltira coughed out. He felt a momentary stab of panic in his chest at his disoriented state. The pain and overwhelming confusion bore a terrifying resemblance to his capture and torture at the hands of the Scarlet Crusade. But as his surroundings came into focus, he could see the human’s familiar form crouched over him, and he knew that once again, Thassarian was there to pull him out of the proverbial fire. The sickening panic waned somewhat.</p><p>  “Not yet.” Thassarian grunted, focusing on something out of Koltira’s line of sight. He no longer appeared as put together as the last time Koltira had laid eyes upon him. He seemed older, with worry lines creasing his face as he frowned down at something just below the elf’s chest.</p><p>  What was he looking at? Koltira worked up the nerve to glance downwards, at whatever had Thassarian looking so concerned. But... something just didn’t add up about what he was seeing.</p><p>  His middle was simply… missing. Well, not entirely, at least. A few scraps of flesh and sinew bridged the gap between his ribs and hips. He stared, mouth agape, suddenly unable to form words.</p><p>  “Abomination hook,” Thassarian muttered, still not looking up.</p><p>  So that explained it. He was quite fortunate that his body was held together by magic rather than blood and organic matter; otherwise he undeniably would not have been so lucky. He involuntarily bore witness to his brother Faltora’s last moments for the thousandth time as the memory flashed in his mind’s eye; Koltira found himself perpetually a second too late to save him from his grisly fate. Fortunately, the traumatic image very rarely caused him pain anymore. He had no way of knowing whether it was due to his transformation into a Death Knight, or whether the vision had simply haunted him for so long that he was numb to the agony.</p><p>  The pain of being disemboweled, however, was unmistakably fresh. He grimaced and focused his gaze upwards to avoid staring at the gaping hole. “It hurts, Thass.”</p><p>  “I know,” The human's voice was strained. “Medic’s on the way. Just hold on.”</p><p>  “Medic,” Koltira repeated halfheartedly. “And what’s a medic going to do, stitch me back together like some sort of sentient quilt?”</p><p>  Thassarian seemed uncomfortable. “Well…”</p><p>  “Ah.” He let his eyes close and tried not to imagine what a process of that magnitude would look like. Instead, he took a deep breath and focused on his surroundings. The cool dawn air carried with it the scent of something, or several somethings, rotting nearby. He realized that it was oddly quiet; the lack of usual ambiance of their fellow soldiers milling about made the silence feel even more ominous. His eyes shot open again. “Where is the rest of the unit?”</p><p>  “Moved on.”</p><p>  “On to where?”</p><p>  “Home.”</p><p>  <em>The Acherus?</em>  Koltira lifted his head again to fix Thassarian with a suspicious glare. “What about the orders to stay behind?”</p><p>  The human did not answer, but busied himself, dabbing a makeshift bandage with droplets of a bubbling, grayish potion of dubious quality.</p><p>  “Thass?” Koltira had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, despite an ironic lack thereof. “How long have we been here?”</p><p>  Thassarian continued to avoid his gaze. “Long enough.”</p><p>  Koltira would have liked to continue glaring at him, but holding his head up at this angle was becoming annoyingly uncomfortable. He let it drop again with a quiet growl of frustration. “You should have gone with them.”</p><p>  Thassarian grunted noncommittally.</p><p>  “You should have gone with them,” Koltira repeated, a bit more forcefully.</p><p>  His ally again did not answer, but pressed down on his wound with what Koltira assumed was the newly-treated bandage, stinging him with a white-hot pang. The elf hissed and clenched his teeth in a snarl. It subsided after a few tense moments, with a tingling sensation that felt decidedly better than it had before. Koltira exhaled in relief, and stared into the lifeless gray sky that stretched above them. “Thass… Why didn’t you go with them?”</p><p>  When he was yet again ignored, Koltira reached up and sharply grabbed the human’s wrist. Thassarian jerked in surprise and finally met Koltira’s furious glower with wide, unblinking eyes. Koltira felt his anger slowly fade as he matched Thassarian’s intense gaze. He couldn’t read the expression behind those glowing blue eyes, but he felt unexpectedly vulnerable and defenseless in a way he couldn’t explain. This time, it was Koltira who looked away. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted an answer to his question.</p><p>  He could feel Thassarian’s eyes still burning into him, but he chuckled uncomfortably and attempted to change the subject. “You’re going to get in a lot of trouble with Darion, you know.”</p><p>  “The<em> Highlord</em> will understand,” Thassarian responded, with a proper emphasis on Mograine’s title. He let out a small <em>hmph</em> and began occupying himself with the bandages again. “And your insolence surely won’t help.”</p><p>  “My insolence? I’m not the one who disobeyed a direct order from the <em>Highlord</em>.” Koltira overemphasized his last word mockingly.</p><p>  “You sure do talk a big game for a sentient quilt.”</p><p>  Koltira narrowed his eyes and raised both hands in an obscene gesture.</p><p>  In response, Thassarian smirked and pressed the treated bandage into his wound again. Koltira hissed as the grayish substance caustically seared into what remained of his midsection. He took a few deep breaths until the pain subsided again, and he cursed aloud in Thalassian. “By the Light, Thass, that <em>hurts</em>.”</p><p>  “Yes, but it also seems to be the only way to get you to stop talking for more than an instant.”</p><p>  Koltira rolled his eyes. “Any update on that medic?”</p><p>  “Ah, well. About that,” Thassarian began, but trailed off. When Koltira looked up questioningly, he was holding up a needle and thread.</p><p>  Koltira ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “By the Light, Thass. Please tell me you were a tailor back home.”</p><p>  He had felt emboldened in the moment, but immediately regretted bringing up the subject. 'Back home' was a topic that the undead tried to avoid at all costs. In general, their lives before being raised were nothing more than painful reminders, and simply were not discussed.</p><p>  But Thassarian was pleasantly unfazed. He merely shook his head with a small smile, and Koltira felt a wave of relief. “Sorry,” the human told him. “Not exactly. I don’t know much about your culture, but in human societies, it’s more the women that tend to take up the tailoring, and the cooking.” He reached behind him into a large satchel, out of which he began pulling miscellaneous bits of skin and tissue that seemed to belong to soldier and Scourge alike. "But I actually grew up on a farm. So, cooking was partially my responsibility as well. Or, at least, the butchering part of it."</p><p>  Koltira groaned. "You're not about to tell me you’re an expert at elven anatomy because you’ve slaughtered a few chickens, are you?”</p><p>  Thassarian seemed almost offended. “Of course not,” he huffed. “It wasn’t only chickens. We kept cows, pigs, geese-”</p><p>  “Please stop.”</p><p>  He raised his hands defensively. “Look, all I’m saying is…” He began sorting through the pile of flesh and pulling out an assortment of mostly-intact organs Koltira recognized as having seen within the corpses of a few disemboweled enemies, but could not identify. “...Meat is meat.”</p><p>  Koltira screwed up his face in disgust. “If you refer to me as meat again…”</p><p>  Thassarian grinned and passed him a small vial of violet liquid. “My mistake. I did rather like that ‘sentient quilt’ business.”</p><p>  “You’ve already made me regret that remark.” Koltira stared at him disapprovingly as he took a swig of the dark potion. His senses had long since been dulled, but it tasted strongly enough of fennel and black licorice that the flavor was a pleasant surprise. He downed the rest of the vial in two more sips, then handed the empty container back to Thassarian. His arm already felt weaker by the time he let it drop back at his side. “Strong stuff.”</p><p>  “You’ll be grateful for it. You won’t want to be conscious for most of this.”</p><p>  Koltira reached up heavily and latched onto the collar of Thassarian's breastplate, suddenly irritated. He yanked him down sharply with a glare. “You're going to get yourself killed one of these days, chasing after someone who should be left for dead." His words were beginning to slur, but he continued bitterly, "And I’ll never forgive you for it.”</p><p>  To his surprise, instead of pulling away, Thassarian grasped Koltira's hand with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.</p><p>  "I can accept that," he said sincerely.</p><p>  The hint of a smile quirked the corner of Koltira's mouth. His façade of anger worked flawlessly on everyone else, but somehow Thassarian always seemed to see the fear and uncertainty it concealed: two emotions he was very much not supposed to feel. That damned human sure seemed to stir up a lot of those.</p><p>  Koltira could feel himself fading quickly. “Stay with me,” he pleaded quietly.</p><p>  Thassarian blinked in mild surprise, then nodded. “Always, brother.” He paused, unsure of himself, then cautiously reached forward to push Koltira’s hair out of his eyes, letting his hand rest on the side of his face as the elf drifted into unconsciousness.</p><p>  “Always.”</p><p> </p><p>  The memory invoked an unfamiliar buzzing of warmth in Koltira's stomach. Of course Thassarian would come for him. He felt ashamed for doubting it, even for a moment. The blank look on his face turned into a satisfied smirk. So the Banshee Queen wanted to play mind games with him? Fine. His move.</p><p>  Sylvanas looked slightly disconcerted at the sudden change of expression on his face, but continued talking. “Tell me, Deathweaver. How does it feel to know that someone you love doesn’t care whether you live or die?”</p><p>  “You tell me.”</p><p>  She froze in her tracks. “Hmm?” She still managed to maintain the same sweet smile, but the tone of her voice had gone from warm to icy cold in a matter of seconds.</p><p>  “You heard me, banshee bitch. How does it feel knowing that no one you love cares whether <em>you</em> live or die?”</p><p>  Sylvanas didn’t move, but her glowing red eyes brightened with fury. “Love is weakness. I love no one.”</p><p>  “Not even your sister?”</p><p>  Instantly, he regretted the words leaving his mouth. Faster than he had even imagined possible, Sylvanas had somehow vanished and rematerialized through the bars on top of him, screeching like the banshee she was, clammy hands throttling him with all of her might. Koltira reacted instinctively, but found that his muscles did not quite react the way they had several years prior. He could not even move to defend himself against her. He could feel her arms flailing, nails scratching, ripping, clawing, but each time he attempted to raise a hand against her, he felt another wave of that same tranquility washing over him, and his limbs felt heavy and cumbersome. It seemed that the more he fought it, the more powerful the charm became, until he could feel himself falling backwards. He heard a sickening crack as his head hit the stone floor, but oddly the pain was dulled along with his awareness. He could do no more than lie there with his eyes closed while the Banshee Queen assailed him mercilessly. He was sure that it was nothing more than a fortuitous coincidence, but her assaults were more and more drowned out by the enchantment until they weren’t entirely unpleasant. At least as far as dying in a cage in the Undercity went, this wasn’t the worst way things could have ended. As Koltira felt his consciousness slowly fading, he found that his final thoughts rested on Thassarian.</p><p> </p><p>  Thassarian, that night before the fateful battle that had landed him here. Koltira had been patrolling the Horde’s temporary station outside of Andorhal when he spotted him. The human appeared to be scouting the area on horseback, very near Koltira’s position. Some instincts from life never quite disappeared completely, and Koltira couldn’t help but gasp in a sharp inhale, despite the pointlessness of the extra breath. He wondered if he should say something to get Thassarian’s attention, but he hesitated. It had been over a year since the two of them had spoken. Unfortunately, that was just the way things were now.</p><p>  The Ebon Blade still had its occasional business to attend to, but in general had little need for its Knights on a regular basis. Thassarian seemed to have been drawn further into Alliance politics, and nearly a year prior his visits to the Acherus had practically ceased overnight; Koltira asked about him at every opportunity, but Mograine had apparently even less intel on Thassarian than he, and the Highlord always seemed to be relentlessly pushing Koltira to make himself useful to the Horde instead of moping around the old headquarters.</p><p>  Koltira had no love for the Horde, of course. His Warchief had made it profoundly clear that any fraternizing with members of the opposite faction would be considered treason and punishable by death. He could almost be positive that King Wrynn had insisted the same of any Death Knights that had chosen to rejoin the Alliance. It seemed ridiculous that faction leaders could expect old bonds to simply disintegrate for the sake of their own convenience.</p><p>  As it was, Koltira expected no more than a firm handshake and solemn greeting from his “enemy”. He ignored the resentment that burned in the pit of his stomach at the meaningless battle lines that had been drawn for him.</p><p>  What he hadn’t expected when he locked eyes with Thassarian was for the human to freeze in shock. His eyes flew wide, and his mouth dropped open. He stared agape, immobilized, as though he had seen a ghost.</p><p>  “<em>Koltira?</em>”</p><p>  The elf inclined his head in greeting politely. “Thassarian.”</p><p>  Thassarian's Deathcharger spooked and reared up at the sound of Koltira’s voice, nearly bucking her rider. “Whoa! Hold, Dusk, steady girl. Steady!” Thassarian gripped the horse’s reins and gently calmed her, while Koltira stifled the urge to laugh and retained his composure. After a moment, Thassarian dismounted, a single runeblade in his hands, and a guarded expression on his face.</p><p>  “No… it couldn’t be.”</p><p>  Koltira was doing his best to be cordial, but he was feeling more and more confused by the minute. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s good to see you alive and well, Thassarian.”</p><p>  At this, the human’s face morphed from cautiously guarded to furious. “I don’t know who you are, but you are not Koltira Deathweaver. You’d better get out of my sight before this runeblade enters through your chest and leaves through your back.”</p><p>  The elf had finally had enough. “By the Light, Thass, what in the hell are you babbling on about?”</p><p>  As he spoke, Thassarian slowly lowered his blade in shock. “Koltira?” The human stepped closer. He almost seemed to be… inspecting him?</p><p>  Koltira made an exasperated gesture, feeling both frustrated and perplexed. “Of course it’s me. Don’t make me use this to prove it, old man.” He gestured to Byfrost, still at his side. “You and I both know that with only one of your runeblades, you don't stand a ch-”</p><p>  Without warning, Thassarian had thrown his arms out and crushed Koltira in a distressingly tight embrace.</p><p>  “Th-Thass?” He awkwardly patted Thassarian’s shoulder, wondering what Hellscream and Wrynn would think.</p><p>  “Brother...”</p><p>  He still hadn’t loosened his grip on Koltira. The elf squirmed uncomfortably.</p><p>  “I thought you were dead.”</p><p>  “<em>What?</em>” Koltira attempted to push Thassarian back to see his face, but the Alliance commander did not budge. At the very least, his actions were finally beginning to make sense.</p><p>  “They told me you were dead, the Horde bastards. I thought you were dead.”</p><p>  Koltira grinned and hugged him back just as tightly. “Well, to be fair… I am.”</p><p>  Thassarian laughed heartily and slapped him several times on the back, then pulled away slightly, enough to see his face, but still refusing to let him go. Koltira didn’t mind in the least; he ignored the nagging feeling of danger in the back of his mind and willingly let himself be held close. He had really missed his comrade.</p><p>  With a sudden rush of realization, Koltira understood. “This is why you haven’t been back to the Acherus."</p><p>  In response, Thassarian kissed him. It was simple, warm, and sincere, much like the man himself, Koltira reasoned, and he melted into it, drawing him closer. Unlike the human, it was not in his nature to be gentle. Koltira bit down sharply on Thassarian’s lip, provoking a groan of mild complaint.</p><p>  "Light, I've missed you." He slid his hands around Thassarian's neck, grasping with just a little more might than necessary. Surprisingly, the human matched his forcefulness with sudden enthusiasm, grabbing a handful of his long hair and pulling roughly.</p><p>  From somewhere in the darkness, Dusk nickered quietly. Both of them froze, then broke apart, drawing their weapons and eyeing their surroundings warily.</p><p>  All was quiet. Thassarian audibly exhaled and turned back to Koltira. There was a light in his eyes that the elf had never seen before. “Come back with me.”</p><p>  Koltira felt numb. “Thass, please,” he whined, every instinct in his body screaming at him to just shut up and go with it. “We can’t. I can’t. The Warchief would-”</p><p>  “Never have to know,” Thassarian finished for him, pulling him in again with one eyebrow raised as if to say “<em>Right?</em>”</p><p>  Koltira sighed. “I can’t. I <em>can’t.</em>” He repeated stubbornly. “Not now. I’m expected to battle both the Scourge and the Alliance forces tomorrow at Andorhal.” He looked away. “How am I supposed to fight you, Thass? How could I ever take your life? We’re utter fools. I was a fool to ever think-”</p><p>  “So don’t think,” Thassarian interrupted with a mischievous grin. “It meant <em>nothing</em>.” He released Koltira and backed away.</p><p>  Koltira felt the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing,” he agreed.</p><p>  Thassarian was already mounting his Deathcharger, but he turned to look at Koltira once more. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but if we make it through this… come find me. Meet me in the Acherus.”</p><p>  “And what if I don’t?” Koltira had teased him.</p><p>  Thassarian smirked. “Then I’ll just have to come and find you.”</p><p>  With that, he grabbed Dusk’s reins and disappeared into the night. Perhaps for good, Koltira realized now as his vision faded into complete darkness. Perhaps things could have been different. Or perhaps it was better to die here, now at the hands of Sylvanas, rather than later when he had even more to lose. Perhaps…</p><p>  And just as suddenly as she was upon him, he felt a weight lift off of him, and the oppressive cloud of black, quiet tranquility slowly began to dissipate. He opened his eyes. Sylvanas was back at his cell door, staring at him, eyes still glowing with rage but with a wide, beautiful smile across her face as though nothing had just happened.</p><p> <em> She truly has gone insane,</em> Koltira concluded, as he felt his vitality rush back into his body. <em>The banshee’s gone batty.</em></p><p>  He lowered his head to collect himself, and when he raised it again, she was gone.</p><p>  There was no bread or water that Winter’s Veil.</p><p>  Nor the year following.</p><p> </p><p>  It had been five years, one hundred-and-something days.</p><p>  Koltira counted the stones in the ceiling again. Still twenty-two. If he could just keep himself sane like this for another month or two, Thassarian would come for him. He would. He had to. Wouldn’t he?</p><p>  “Don’t do it,” a familiar voice warned him. Koltira glanced up to see Thassarian standing in the doorway, leaning idly against one wall.</p><p>  “Do what?”</p><p>  “Lose it,” he replied seriously.</p><p>  Koltira laughed out loud at the hallucination. “Too late, brother… too late.”</p><p> </p><p>  It had been five years, two hundred-and-something days when Koltira’s ears pricked at the sound of a clamor from out in the hall. Something fragile, glass perhaps, hitting the stone floors and shattering. Voices, at least one of them male. Familiar.</p><p>  <em>Thassarian?</em></p><p>  Koltira shot bolt upright and leapt to his feet. He felt unsteady for a moment and gripped the iron bars for balance. Every muscle in his body tensed, listening, waiting. The voice came again, louder this time. Shouting. The metallic clash of combat.</p><p>  Then, silence.</p><p>  Koltira strained against the bars of his cage. Waiting. Hoping.</p><p>  At the end of the hallway, there finally appeared a glorious, broad-shouldered silhouette, stepping now into the light. He looked just as he had in every one of Koltira’s crazed hallucinations. And behind him, another familiar comrade-in-arms.</p><p>  Koltira paused, suddenly unsure. This didn’t feel like a hallucination. But how would he know for sure?</p><p>  The human paused in the doorway, allowing the other Death Knight to run past him and begin working on Koltira’s cage. He locked eyes with Koltira and started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He swallowed and started again. “We are here to free you at last… my brother.”</p><p>  Koltira felt his chest swelling with emotions he thought long buried. “Thassarian,” he rasped, his throat aching with the effort of merely speaking his comrade’s name. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other Death Knight working furiously at the lock until it finally clicked open, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the most wondrous sight he was sure he had ever beheld. “Is it really you?”</p><p>  Thassarian smiled with a brief nod, but did not respond. He shot an awkward glance at the third person in the room with them, then back at Koltira, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, as though that was supposed to mean something to him.</p><p>  Fortunately, Koltira understood. Now was not the time. He acknowledged Thassarian with a tiny nod, straightening his shoulders. “It has been such a long time.”</p><p>  “Indeed it has,” Thassarian responded stiffly. He seemed relieved.</p><p>  The other Death Knight tossed aside the cage's lock and the door swung open with an ominous creak. Koltira hesitated for a single moment as his mind raced: What kind of enchantments might these bars be under? Would leaving set off some sort of alarm? What if, after all of this, it were just some elaborately-planned trick?</p><p>  He looked into Thassarian's eyes again and saw only gentle encouragement. It was all he needed to take that first step.</p><p>  Unfortunately that first step sent an excruciating shockwave of sudden hatred and murderous rage throughout his body. It was as though the years of bloodlust that had been stifled by Sylvanas' charms had been building up, only to be released upon him all at once. He managed to take only two steps, then stopped. Outwardly, he showed no sign of his violent inclinations, but when he met Thassarian's eye, he could see the human's expression of calm reassurance turning to one of worry. Koltira couldn't help but notice that his grip tightened slightly on his runeblades, and his stance had tensed. Seeing him ready to fight made Koltira wish he still had Byfrost. His eyes narrowed as he glanced between the others in the room with him, debating which of them would make a more delicious target.</p><p>  “We must hurry, before the guards come,” Thassarian asserted, breaking Koltira's train of thought for one blissful moment. He needed no further encouragement, and immediately concentrated his remaining energy into summoning a Death Gate. Relief flooded through him as he felt the magic leave his fingertips in a cast directed into the floor, instead of fizzling out yet again. It felt good to be in control once more. For a split second, he imagined himself aiming a spell at the others in the room with him. Oh, how satisfying it would be to make them hurt just a little bit before he stepped into the portal…</p><p>  But one more look at Thassarian's face, and the sadistic urges inside him calmed just enough to force himself to take one last step.</p><p>  In life, stepping through a magical portal to another place had been a rush to his senses. It would start with a tugging sensation in his gut, then for a split second between locations he could almost feel the deadly frigid temperatures and curious smell of the Twisting Nether, which he could have only described as “absolutely nothing, but set ablaze”. He would emerge on the other side, mildly short of breath, feeling as though he had just been drenched in icy water and then immediately wrapped in a cozy blanket. In death, of course, he found it was usually as simple as walking through a door into another room.</p><p>  But this time, finally leaving that horrid Undercity chamber had an unspeakably dramatic effect on his body. The very moment he stepped through to the other side, he collapsed on his knees onto the familiar stones of the Acherus, coughing and wheezing despite the futility of the air he breathed. The very same bloodthirst that he had managed to push down after being freed from his cage was overpowering now that he was completely out from underneath all of Sylvanas’ enchantments. The agony raging through his body was unbearable. He doubled over on the ground, muttering to himself, a mash of Thalassian and Common woven together in an incoherent ramble.</p><p>  Hurt.</p><p>  Kill.</p><p>  Somewhere above him, he could hear a booming shout. Something was grabbing his shoulders. Tugging, trying to pull him somewhere. All that registered on his mind was that another creature was close to him. Close enough to strike.</p><p>  <em>Hurt. </em></p><p>  With a guttural cry, he lunged.</p><p>  <em>Kill.</em></p><p>  The creature seemed caught off guard, and tumbled to the ground under Koltira’s weight. It was lucky he had never retrieved Byfrost. Koltira had been imprisoned for several years now, and his body was weakened with disuse, but he was driven by an unnatural power. He attacked with an uncontrollable rage, battering the body beneath him with blind strength until he caught the scent of blood.</p><p>  Something about the sensation cleared his head slightly, but only inflamed his need to spill more of it. He could see now that he was attacking a human, fully armored and taking very little damage from Koltira’s blows, save for a bloody lip.</p><p>  <em>Thassarian?</em></p><p>  The human was shouting something at him, trying to wrestle Koltira to the ground as he thrashed wildly.</p><p>  It wasn’t enough. He needed a weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, Koltira saw a familiar blue glow and his eyes trained to a pair of runeblades, laying discarded on the ground only a few yards away. Thassarian followed his gaze, and his eyes widened in dismay.</p><p>  In a sudden mad scramble, the two Death Knights clamored for the blades. Koltira managed to get his hands on the hilt of one of them, but Thassarian came away with the other.</p><p>  The human was still shouting something as he held up the sword defensively, trying to direct Koltira's attention elsewhere. He thought for a moment he heard his name, and paused. Part of him wanted to listen to Thassarian, to understand what the man was yelling about. But all he could focus on was a heavy pounding in his ears, and above it, an annoying high-pitched ringing that was driving him mad. He again advanced, wielding the blade with both hands as he would Byfrost. The runeblade clashed with its brother over and over again, each blow pushing Thassarian back another pace, while Koltira continued to relentlessly drive himself forward.</p><p> <em> Hurt. </em></p><p>  Koltira had him backed into a wall, now. He heaved the blade into the air with both hands, bringing it slicing down onto Thassarian's in a twisted but familiar display of swordsmanship. Thassarian held his single runeblade across his body, bracing the blade with his other hand in an attempt to hold off Koltira’s relentless advance. Koltira had hoped to see fear in the human's eyes, but his face was simply… tired. Saddened.</p><p>  For a moment, his aggression wavered, but he could not loosen his grip on the blade.</p><p> <em> Kill. </em></p><p>  "Koltira." Thassarian's voice was just a whisper now. Koltira realized he could hear him… understand him, even… but still the bloodthirst in him persisted.</p><p>  "Koltira… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."</p><p>  With that, Thassarian dropped his sword. It clattered to the stone floor with a metallic ring.</p><p>  <em>Thassarian...</em></p><p>  Koltira watched in horror as he drew back his own arm to strike. Thassarian’s eyes met his.</p><p>  <em>No… Wait!</em></p><p>  But his own body would not listen to his commands. The thirst had taken hold of him. With a torturous scream, he plunged the blade forward.</p><p>  Thassarian's face contorted in wordless pain as the blade penetrated his armor and sank into his gut. Koltira drank in the human's agony like he was quenching a horrible thirst. He could feel his savage furor melt away as he gripped the end of the runeblade unyieldingly, his sanity returning in shuddering waves of relief that spread from his unbeating heart outwards to his extremities, until he could no longer hear the voice's incessant whispers. The maddening ringing in his ears finally faded. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his arms as though trying to stave off the cold.</p><p> </p><p>  He couldn't be sure if he had been lying there for mere seconds or ages by the time he finally came to his senses.</p><p>  <em>Thassarian! </em></p><p>  Koltira jerked his head upwards, and was pleased to find that he was once again in control of his own movements. He could still feel the bloodthirst deep within him, but it had been satisfied for the time being. Thassarian slumped, unmoving, against the wall with the runeblade still impaled in his stomach.</p><p>  “Thass?” He whispered fearfully. He felt hot, nauseating panic rising in his chest and wondered for a split second if he was going to be sick.</p><p>  But Thassarian lifted his head. “Feel better?” He smiled weakly. Koltira was suddenly overwhelmed with relief.</p><p>  “By the Light, Thass!” He immediately fumbled for the sword, but Thassarian’s hand stopped him.</p><p>  “No, it’s probably better if I do it.”</p><p>  Koltira nodded, rocking back on his heels in a crouch. He wasn't quite sure what to say.</p><p>  Thassarian winced slightly as he tested the sword, but otherwise seemed unfazed. “That Hunger can be nasty. I recognized it in your eyes back in the Undercity. I tried to get you a little closer to the ghouls before you lost it completely, but…” He trailed off as he inspected his wound. “You know, this one might actually be better left to an apothecary.”</p><p>  Koltira stared in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”</p><p>  “Hm?”</p><p>  He gestured incredulously to his own midsection. “Your farmhand knowledge is enough to recreate my entire torso, but you need an apothecary’s assistance for some puny knife wound?”</p><p>  “Now hold on,” Thassarian started to say, laughing. “That was different-”</p><p>  Koltira interrupted him by grabbing the hilt of the runeblade and twisting sharply. Thassarian groaned in discomfort and held up his hands in defeat. The bloodthirst receded even further, and Koltira felt as close to normal as he had in years.</p><p>  “...Okay, I may have deserved that.”</p><p>  “Hm.” Koltira agreed. He realized for the first time that he was not standing in the main corridor of the Acherus, where his Death Gate would usually plant him. Instead, they were deep in an unfamiliar corridor. Of course, it made some sense; surely, had this spectacle taken place out in the open, someone else would have - or at least <em>could</em> have - interfered.</p><p>  “It’s… different,” he murmured, feeling slightly out of place.</p><p>  “We’ve had some work done,” Thassarian said casually, as though he didn’t still have a massive sword lodged in his stomach. “You may need to reattune yourself. I probably should have warned you it’d be different.”</p><p>  “No, I should have realized it myself,” Koltira admitted. “It’s been five years and… well, some amount of days, it’s not as though-”</p><p>  “Three hundred and twelve.” Thassarian interrupted quietly.</p><p>  “I…” Koltira paused. “What?”</p><p>  “Five years, three hundred and twelve days.” He repeated slowly, with a shake of his head. Koltira could only stare in shock as he continued. “I can’t tell you how many times I tried to get you out of there, Koltira. Every day without you here… it was all I could think about." He swallowed, closing his eyes. "How it was my fault you were there in the first place. My fault that you weren't here. My fault that I couldn't get you out." His hands balled into fists, and he began gesturing ardently. "I petitioned the Highlord to send a team, but you know how the Ebon Blade feels about all that 'left behind' nonsense."</p><p>  Koltira raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment. He knew only all too well.</p><p>  "I asked for help from the leaders of the Alliance, but they didn't want to get involved. Faction politics and whatnot." He threw his hands up in frustration. "I even requested an audience with Sylvanas herself."</p><p>  Koltira snorted derisively. "I imagine that went well."</p><p>  "About as well as you'd expect," Thassarian admitted. "No one would listen. But I knew I had to do something. I couldn't focus. I couldn't do anything. The damned Burning Legion returned to our very doorstep and all I could think about was what was happening to you down there."</p><p>  Koltira looked away uncomfortably. He wasn't sure he could keep listening to this. "We really should get you to that apothecary," he muttered, changing the subject.</p><p>  Thassarian took his hand gently. "Koltira?"</p><p>  “It’s really better if they pull it out themselves, and-”</p><p>  “Koltira.”</p><p>  “-really don’t want that to get infected, it’s-”</p><p>  Thassarian reached up and wrenched the blade out of his own stomach with a sickening squelch. “<em>Koltira.</em>”</p><p>  The elf finally stopped talking. His mouth hung open in a revolted daze.</p><p>  Thassarian waved the runeblade at him, slinging blackened gore all over the ground. He tossed it to the side and gestured to the wound again. “Look, it’s fine. Look.”</p><p>  “By the Light, Thass. You’re disgusting.”</p><p>  “Would you just listen to me?”</p><p>  “You’re <em>definitely</em> going to need someone to look at it n-”</p><p>  Thassarian grabbed his face and kissed him.</p><p>  Koltira’s shoulders sank and he made a few small noises of complaint that were quickly hushed. After a few long moments, Thassarian broke away. He stared into Koltira’s questioning eyes seriously. “I’ll always come for you, Koltira.”</p><p>  The elf grinned. He pulled himself on top of Thassarian and kissed him again, longingly and deeply. Thassarian groaned and slid his hands around Koltira's back, holding him in place against him. Koltira let out an impassioned sigh and ran his fingers through the human’s silver hair.</p><p>  "<em>Ahem.</em>" The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat echoed down the hallway, and the two immediately looked up.</p><p>  “Highlord!” Thassarian blurted, as Koltira grumbled “...Darion.”</p><p>  Thassarian prodded him sharply in the side without breaking eye contact with Mograine.</p><p>  "Ow! ...<em>Highlord</em>," Koltira amended finally.</p><p>  Mograine's helm covered almost the entirety of his face, so his expression was unreadable, but Koltira could swear he seemed amused.</p><p>  "Deathweaver." He sounded exhausted, but not surprised.</p><p>  Koltira inclined his head, but otherwise did not move. He was still straddling Thassarian, who in turn had not yet released his hold on the elf's hips. Koltira fixed Mograine with a challenging stare. Mograine's gaze moved over to Thassarian, then back to Koltira again. The three of them stared wordlessly at one another for several long moments.</p><p>  "What can we do for you, Highlord?" Thassarian said finally, breaking the silence.</p><p>  Mograine sighed and shook his head, holding out one hand to stop him. "Just… don't tell Nazgrim about this. He's got quite a bit of gold riding on the idea that you-" he jabbed a finger at Koltira, "-Would end up back here any day now with no explanation." He shot Thassarian a pointed look, and the human glanced away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.</p><p>  "You placed<em> bets</em> on whether I'd return?!" Koltira protested indignantly.</p><p>  "No. <em>I</em> didn't." Mograine turned to walk away. "All the better. I would have been cleaned out five years ago."</p><p>  Koltira glanced at Thassarian, confused. Thassarian shrugged at him. He didn't look as though he understood any more clearly.</p><p>  "Now find somewhere for this other than a hallway!" Mograine's voice boomed as he stomped away, flinging his parting words over his shoulder.</p><p>  Once he was out of earshot, Koltira grinned. "What do you think? Darion's quarters?"</p><p>  Thassarian gave him a good-natured shove. "I'd say the apothecary first."</p><p>  Koltira glanced down at the gaping wound in Thassarian's stomach. "Right." He stood to help the human up, then paused, gesturing after Mograine. "Did I hear him say Nazgrim?"</p><p>  "Ah. Yes."</p><p>  Koltira stared at him, bewildered.</p><p>  "Come on. I'll explain once I've gotten myself properly sutured." He put an arm around Koltira. "Welcome home, brother."</p><p>  It was home, Koltira realized as they slowly made their way into the main chamber of the Acherus. There was no place for him in the Horde any longer. Even the Ebon Blade had shown him such little loyalty. But right now, Thassarian was here. And wherever his human was, he would stay.</p><p>
  <em>  I'm finally home.</em>
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